Falling
by Andian
Summary: The revolution didn't failed. It just got to a point where everything started to fall apart AU
1. Chapter 1

Title: Falling

Warnings: Angst, Death, AU, a bit OOC

Disclaimer: I own nothing, the characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker,

Consider this AU as crazy, dark and a mix between The Wacky Molestation Adventure from 416 and La resistance from the Southpark Movie

This most probably still explains nothing

If you found any mistakes it'd be nice if you'd tell me

Leave a review if you like the story

Enjoy yourself!

Everything was slowly falling apart.

The room was small and badly lighted. The only window was broken. It was carelessly boarded-up with a few planks. Christophe snorted shortly and let his eyes wander over the broken furniture. ''That's pretty bad.'' he said. ''Really Christophe?'' his voice sounded like smooth like always ''I remember meeting you at some even worse places.'' Gregory didn't look up from the papers in front of him. ''But that's me. I'm used to such places.'' He stepped over to the window, not looking at Gregory. ''Why are you here?'' A bit of light came through the slots. He didn't turn around, didn't wanted to see if Gregory still wasn't facing him. ''Stan's dead. Kyle has gone rather crazy since his death.'' ''Really.'' Gregory said emotionless. ''Cartman's doing, hell, whatever he's doing, no one's really sure 'bout him, but rumors say Wendy's with him now.'' By the mention of his old girlfriend the writing stopped for a second. Christophe still didn't turned around ''Some say they are building something. Something really big.'' He laughed husky. ''Knowing that son of a bitch it's gonna be something terrible.'' The chair scratched on the floor. Steps were behind him. ''Christophe.'' Gregory was standing behind him. ''Why are you here?'' He should turn around right now. ''Kyle raised the money on your head.'' he said. ''And Cartman still thinks the dam incident was your fault.'' ''It was my fault.'' Gregory said quietly. He was leaning closer. ''You know it, Christophe.'' His hand was on his neck, slowly moving up and down. Christophe didn't move, didn't turned around, just starred at the boarded-up window and the small stripes of light, who came through it. ''You helped me.'' His tone was soft like always, but now something sharp was in it. Christophe turned in one swift move around, and starred angry at Gregory. ''Tell the asshole that.'' he hissed. ''And I'll make sure Wendy will get her hands on you before I hand you over to Kyle.'' Gregory just smiled. He turned around again and went back to the table. Christophe watched his back and clenched his teeth. ''You're hiding like a rat.'' he said. He lifted his hand around the room, waved it disparagingly at the broken furniture and the dirt. ''What happened to the guy who'd rather die than to betray his ideals?'' He laughed roughly. ''Lemme guess, you found out that the world wasn't in the mood to play nicely.'' ''I'm beginning to believe, that there could be other ways. More peaceful ones.'' ''Peaceful? Like what? Telling Kyle that killing everyone who dares to say something against him won't bring Stan back? Making Cartman stop building somethings that will most likely destroy the whole damn world? It's too late for that shit, it's too late for anything. All you can do is grab a gun, kill them all and watch the bloody mess they will left behind.'' ''I'm working on something, Christophe, something great. Cartman isn't the only one with a plan. And in contrast to him, I know that mine will work. I have a change'' Christophe felt his shoulder dropping down. ''A plan.'' he repeated toneless. ''You're working on a plan. You have run away, you have left everything behind, you left m... you left for a fucking plan?'' he screamed. He stumbled through the room, grasped his shoulder and started shaking him. ''You're even more stupid then I thought! What do you think you are? You still think you're the hero? You really still think you're the fucking hero who will safe the day in the end? That there is something worth being saved? You really still think that?'' Gregory didn't tried to stop him. He just starred at him, while Christophe shacked him roughly. Then he reached out and touched Christophes face. ''You haven't changed at all.'' he whispered with a sad smile. Christophe didn't flinched. ''I'm sorry that I went away without telling you.'' Christophe heart clinched painfully. ''I don't care.'' he mumbled. The old feeling of sadness shoot again through him, repleacing the former anger. ''I don't care what you did, where you went. I don't care about you.'' Gregory didn't stop, he just kept on stroking over face, caressing it, like he did before, before he went away and vanished without a word. He would just have to close his eyes and it would be like before. He flinched back and his face hardened. ''I don't care Gregory. I'm here for the money.'' ''So why I'm still alive?'' ''I can change that in a second...'' his hand fumbled for the knife. One quick move and it was pressed against his throat. Gregory closed his eyes. His breath quicken and a strange feel of satisfaction creeped Christophe. Gregory was afraid. Gregory, the mighty Gregory who thought he could control everything, anything, him, was afraid. ''You don't know what I was going through. Everybody thinks I knew about your plan. They all think I helped you.'' His hand was shaking a bit. He forced himself to calm down. ''What exactly were you thinking? Really now you should know better. You really think they wouldn't notice the dynamite? Stan had checked the tower every day. And what if they wouldn't have found it?'' His knife was pressing deeper into Gregorys skin. ''You would have killed a few people. Hell, if you would have been lucky it could have been Kyle!'' He snorted humorless. ''And then? What then? Where the hell did you thought you could hide?'' Gregory closed his eyes slightly. ''I was wrong. You've changed. The Mole would never sold himself to some cheap leader.'' Christophe narrowed his eyes. ''The only reason I'm doing this is the money.'' ''Sure.'' just one word, but it was spoken with an deception that made Christophe slighty flinch. ''The whole you-should-know-better speech. That was pathetic. Did you stole the lines from some action-hero? Or did Kyle told you them? If you'd really wanted the money, I'd be dead right now. But it's not just the money. You're afraid Christophe.'' He looked at him, smiling slightly, a contemptible smile, telling him that he know, that he know everything. ''Shut up.'' he hissed. One swift move and Gregory was pressed against the wall. ''Shut up.'' he repeated. His moves were automatic, the anger controlling them. The thundering pound of his heart made it hard to hear anything, his vision was loosen, focused on Gregory and that smug smile he still had on his face. ''You left. You fucking left me there. Wanna know what Kyle did? Wanna see the scars? Wanna see what that crazy bastard did to me, thinking I killed his best friend?'' Memories flashed for his inner eyes. Darkness, chains and screams. Over and over screams. ''You used me. Used me and left me.'' Gregorys starred at him shocked. ''I- I didn't wanted this.'' he stuttered. It made it even worse. The stutter teared Christophes picture of Gregory, teared the picture of a cold man who'd everything to get to his goal. The teared picture didn't deserve the hate, the anger, the wish for finding him. It didn't was worth staying alive for. ''I'm sorry Christophe.'' The words were painful. ''Me too.'' he mumbled. Everything was hazy, just the blue of Gregorys eyes were visible. He would end it now. ''Really sorry.'' Slowly he lifted the knife. ''Bye Gregory.'' The knife came down.

Everything had been fallen apart. In a dirty room, with a boarded-up window and broken furniture some stripes of the setting sun let a trail of red drops sparkle.


	2. Tired

They were young when it started. Too young to realize. To young to care about the consequences.

They had a dream, Stan always thought. An idea, a vision.

But well they were young.

There was the sound of something breaking. A piercing scream, echoing in the room.

Stan flinched slightly. 'Is this really necessary?'

Clyde looked up a bloody baseball bat in his hand.

'He said, he knows something.' For a moment a bit of life came back into his dead eyes.

'He said we should find out what exactly.' His voice was shivering with excitement.

'So we do find out.' He turned around, back to the crumbled figure in front of him.

Stan closed his eyes as he lifted the bat again.

Another piercing scream echoed from the walls.

Later as he walked down the hallway to his room he tried to remember when exactly Clyde had started to enjoy this.

He sighed. He was tired. It had been a long day. His stomach cringed at the thought of tomorrow.

He didn't said anything useful. He just screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed and...

'Close the door Stan. It's getting cold.' He hadn't even noticed that he already reached his room.

Or their room. His head was spinning slightly. He closed the door.

Wendy looked up from her book. 'How was your day?' 'The Goths found Butters.' 'Really? How is it going?' What was she really asking, Stan wondered. Did she wanted to know about Butters or did she wanted to know about all the stuff Clyde was able to do with a bat.  
'Not that good.' It was a neutral answer. Wendy seemed to be slightly disappointed. 'I'm tired.' he added quickly. Was she disappointed that he didn't wanted to speak with her about it? For a second the silence was there again and he again he realized with a terrifying clearness that he didn't know what he was doing, didn't know why he was doing this all. His eyes wandered over the furniture in his, their, room, so proper, so clean, so wrong.

His shoulders slumped down.

'Oh my poor dear.' Just a few seconds too late, only just a bit too sweet. She stood up and he saw that she was wearing that dress again. 'Lay down.' She caressed his check. He wondered if any of them really thought it was a loving action. 'I'll make it good.' she lead him to his, their, bed and he followed without resisting.

His head started to hurt. Something was wrong, no, everything was wrong and he didn't know how to fix it, how to make it well again.

His mind wandered back to Butters lifting his head, his face bloody, to Clyde, the mad sparkle in his eyes, lifting his bat, to Wendy in the purple dress, standing next to Him, like it was their rightful place and he was somewhere in between this all but it was way to late to figure out where exactly and to found out how he could change anything, something.

'I'll make you forget.' Wendy whispered into his ear while she slowly undressed him.

Maybe it was the true, maybe it was a lie, maybe it was all just an illusion.

It was good enough for now.

They got old, he thought dull, later when Wendy was moving under him, in him, not quite for him.

They got old and he got tired.


End file.
